


Clara

by Whovian_Overload



Series: In no particular order [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Darillium, F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy, Time Babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 02:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7149968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whovian_Overload/pseuds/Whovian_Overload
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How River and Twelve's first child on Darillium comes to be. </p><p>"For River, the knowing is a welcomed relief. She doesn’t have any reason to think of her messy past. All the burdens of her life are gone here and it’s just the constant of him (something she couldn’t have given his younger self credit for). She loves waking up next to her husband and knowing they’ll stay in bed for as long as they want."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clara

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one surprisingly fast once I got the idea for it. Everyone seems to be going to Darillium fics, so I thought I'd add to the pile. Very fluffy hopefully. I was trying really hard to work on descriptions and minimize dialogue. I'm so excited to share this with you guys. Enjoy!
> 
> PS. Shout out/thanks to my awesome beta, Millie. Tumblr: ultrachaitealoveworld

Darillium is a place of little words for the Songs. For an ordinary human couple, that would’ve been a sign of a rift between them, but River and the Doctor are probably closer than any two people on this planet. Most of their communication simply doesn’t require words due to their telepathic connection, or because they just know.  Any words that are spoken between them are never empty and always mean more to them than anyone could guess just by listening. 

 

The Doctor, the sentimental man, is always coming up with ways to tell his wife he loves her, whether it be through explaining random tidbits of history she already knows about, or explaining plots of movies she’s already seen, or even talking about the plants she’s already learned about in the garden River starts in their third year there. 

 

He never has to ask where she’d like to go on their daily adventures, always ending up somewhere enjoyable. He never needs to ask when she’s tired and needs to have some space to herself, always getting the hint quickly. He never asks if she wants a baby, but the subject comes to his mind more often than he gives credit for.  

 

They’ve never really talked about it before, not in any of their lives. She never seems opposed to the idea, but he’s never brought it up before. It’s not a monumental thing he realizes he wants all at once. It’s more of a memory that starts leaving him hints of want; tiny shoes here, high-pitched laughter there, dirt covered hands and short, pale tufts of hair. His children on Gallifrey brought as much joy to his life as River does now. How can he not wonder what happiness they might bring him and his wife here on this little red planet that reminds him so much of home? 

 

But then there are the obstacles he spends time thinking about as he lays in bed with his brilliant River slumbering against his chest. (He doesn’t need the sleep, but he appreciates the time with her.) He can’t bring himself to just bring it up, lest the very idea scares her off and ruins all they have here. He knows there will be parts of her that will doubt her abilities to do exactly the opposite of what she was trained to do her whole life;  _ Who would trust me with kids? I’m a murderous psychopath.   _

 

The subject, he reasons when she starts her garden, can’t come all at once. He decides to plant the idea in her head and let it navigate her mind on its own. 

 

It starts with stories of his home, mentioning his family and the children he once had. She wonders if it makes him sad to remember them, but he assures her the pain is gone.

 

He discusses his companions with her, telling her of a letter he once received from Martha that expressed her joy in having kids. He smiles as River teases that she wouldn’t mind babysitting if need be.

 

Whenever they go to a planet with shops, he tests her reactions of walking past baby stores and takes comfort in watching her eyes linger on a few things in the windows.  He brings her to buy gardening supplies and she amusedly points out the little pink trowels sold to children.

 

For River, the knowing is a welcomed relief. She doesn’t have any reason to think of her messy past. All the burdens of her life are gone here and it’s just the constant of him (something she couldn’t have given his younger self credit for). She loves waking up next to her husband and knowing they’ll stay in bed for as long as they want. She loves knowing he’ll be back if he runs out for a quick trip somewhere. She loves that what had only been a hope and doubt her whole life is as true as the Towers’ song. The Doctor’s never seen her so unburdened, so unafraid. It’s all he could ever ask for: peace for his love.

She never tells him when it’s happened, but in the middle of their sixth year, she starts sleeping with her arm draped over her abdomen. A week later, he starts sleeping with his arm there, too. 

 

-x-

 

She spends a great deal of time in the TARDIS when she starts showing. He’ll often find her in the library just wandering through the endless rows of shelves. He wonders if it’s a leftover instinct from her old life; the TARDIS will keep her and their child safe. Sometime in her later months, he figures out that she just likes sharing the experience of growing a life with her mother. 

 

There are times when she’s hunched over her desk in concentration on something probably not important and he’ll sneak up and start rubbing her shoulders. She always wants to protest.  _ You needn’t bother with such a silly thing and, really, I don't need a rest right now.  _

 

When she looks at him, his eyes express a silent insistence.  _ It  _ is  _ time for a break and I’m your husband so I ought to be allowed to bother with silly things. _

 

When he finds her in the med bay giving herself an ultrasound, he silently moves in to take the probe and help her get the proper angle, telling her to let him know next time. 

 

She doesn’t ask about Gallifreyan pregnancies once they discover the child will have its father’s genes. She knows the looms have been around long enough that no one would have any information for her and no book in the library will help. She does a bit of poking around information on human gestation, though the differences are enough that she stops bothering with the task. 

 

There’s no big red ‘X’ marked on the calendar. There’s no anxious pacing of the house waiting for something to happen. There doesn't even seem to be any physical warning signs in River’s body preparing for labor. Occasionally, the Doctor will wake to find her out of bed, sitting on the balcony of their house, but she always comes quickly inside. They know what’s too early, but what’s too late is a mystery they let figure itself out. 

 

-x-

It would be improper to say it is morning when the Doctor wakes. It’s always dark on their little planet, but he and River do their best to keep ‘day’ cycles of about thirty hours. It’s the beginning of a self-imposed day cycle when the Doctor wakes. He blinks and stretches, and feels that today will be a relaxed day as he rolls over to cuddle up to his wife. 

 

Upon finding empty sheets next to him, he becomes just a bit more grumpy and sits up. There’s no smell of coffee and he doesn’t see anyone on the balcony when his eyes adjust enough for him to look there. The blankets on the bed cover the damp patch on River’s side he would have otherwise noticed.

 

He rolls off the bed and throws on a button-down and trousers. If River is already up and about, then there’s really no point in being in bed anymore. He searches the upstairs and finds the nursery and offices empty. A quick search of down stair produces the same result. He tries not to grown concerned, slipping on shoes to check the back garden. 

 

The yard is barren sans the garden tools River left out from the other day (including the little pink trowel sold for children), but the door to the TARDIS is cracked open, so the Doctor quickly follows the hint to the console room. Again, there is no one. He’s not sure whether she’s put him on a scavenger hunt or thought she’d be back before he woke. Either way, he’s starting to get frustrated. He checks the flight log and determines she hasn’t flown anywhere since their last outing. 

 

Frowning, he trudges down the corridor to the library, a place she takes ironic comfort in. If it’s a game ‘Find the Time Lord’s Wife’ she wants to play, then he ought to start with the places she enjoys being in. He knows she’s in there the moment he opens the tall wooden doors, but he still does not spot her, so he assumes she must be in the back. History was always loved by her. 

 

He finally finds her strolling beside a shelf on post-WWIV France. He doesn’t approach immediately, giving her the chance to declare her annoyance in his winning. She doesn’t, pausing to run her fingers along the spines of a few books and press her palm to them. She doesn’t seem to care at all that he has found her, let alone give any hint that she has gotten up this early in the day to play a game. 

 

He takes her ease as a sign that she isn’t avoiding him and moves to stand next to her. She’s still in her nightie, a piece of clothing she deemed a tarp when he first gave it to her. Now it’s the only pajamas that fit her on nights she decides to wear clothes to bed at all. 

 

He looks her over slowly, hearts quickening when he sees the dampness on the skirt of her dress. She invites him into her mind and he finds the recent memory of her waking hours ago to fluid between her legs and pain in her back.

 

He stares at her questioningly. She looks back at him, regarding him with a soft smile and a small nod before waddling onwards. He follows. 

 

It’s over ten minutes of roaming  down rows of shelves before she stops and presses her hand to a new shelf which happens have books on the Unity Accords. He holds his breath as he watches her little ritual. 

 

Slowly, he reaches for her other hand which is fisted at her side and brings it up to his lips. He kisses her knuckles until her hand relaxes and flattens again and her eyes are drawn to his. He weaves their fingers together knowingly, then continues walking with her. 

 

Ten minutes later, they stop at the American Civil Wars and she squeezes his hand along with repeating her previous motions. 

 

After the next ten, they’re at important Russian leaders, then full histories of the Silurian people after that, and at the next stop they reach the sections on science. 

 

By the time they reach the books on building space crafts, her pauses are a bit more obvious. She closes her eyes and bows her head slightly each time in an attempt to keep inwards focus while not making much noise. 

 

He keeps track of her progress by marking what books they’re next to at each new halt and what motion River unconsciously adds.  

 

_ Black holes, chemical compositions of nebulas, star charts. _ She starts gripping the edge of the shelf instead of pressing her hand against the books. 

 

_ Great poets of Brazil, great poets of Oceana, ecology of the Amazon. _ She starts to breathe more heavily, letting out small puffs as she concentrates. 

 

_ Greek mythology, Gallifreyan Mythology, War heroes of Gallifrey. _ Her expression hardens more and she’s walking slower now. He wraps his arm around her when they move on.

 

_ The Time War, The Doctor, associates of the Doctor.  _ It’s been hours. She turns away from him, putting her full weight on the shelves as she moans. 

 

He touches her shoulder, turns her, and has her lean on him instead. Clasping her hands together behind his neck, he slowly moves backward and urges her to drag her feet forwards. Her head rests on his shoulder and his hands on her waist as he reminds her softly to breathe. 

 

_ The Doctor’s wife. _

 

Her weight pulls against his shoulders when the pain occurs, her center of gravity lowering as she surrenders to the episode. He’s almost sure she doesn’t realize the way she shifts her balance or the way her lips part slightly to let her desperate breaths pass. He kisses away the crease in her brow and suggests they go to the med bay. 

 

River agrees with reluctance, making it clear that she is only going because she needs to not be on her feet anymore and that the library probably isn’t an appropriate place to bear a child.

 

As they go through the corridors she needs to be intermediary to him and the wall, using both for balance. The TARDIS puts a rail along the wall for River in an attempt to be helpful, knowing that it’s becoming increasingly difficult for her daughter to maintain the effort of staying on her feet and focus on her other task at the same time.

 

The Doctor knows that River will refuse any sort of needles in her body whether it be for an IV or pain medication. He doesn’t bother to convince her when they arrive in the med bay. He pulls away from his wife, moving to gather up some other supplies, like towels and scissors. 

 

Although there is a cot ready for River to rest on, she ignores it and uses the wall to lower herself on her hands and knees. The Doctor returns to her side and watches her rock herself in this new position, doing her best to relieve the pressure on her back. He can see each contraction growing increasingly intense and wants to check her dilation, but he knows that at this moment she’s listening fully to her body and will start pushing of her own readiness.

 

They stay like this for some time during which she removes her nightgown since it catches too much of the heat that her body is working up. A younger Doctor might’ve blushed at this, but this one only takes the time to look protectively over her and admire how maternity looks on his wife. He rubs her back when her sounds increase over their usual volume and her breathing quickens, offering comfort in the physical contact. 

 

He knows River is ready when she sits back on her heels, her lungs working harder than normal. The Doctor sets towels beneath her and mirrors her position in front of her, facing her. Her knees are on either side of his to keep them apart and she inhales sharply, letting out a long groan as her body clenches and she bears alongside. 

 

Relentless, the contractions keep coming. 

 

He noticed it before, but up close he can see clearly that there is a two-part pattern in how River's body functions during each contraction. First, when the pain starts up, she tightens. Everything about her; muscles, expression, and even her mind clench up and she tries to crumple in on herself. She’ll bare her teeth and squeeze her eyes shut and try to pull her knees together. When she was just standing or walking the latter was easy, but the Doctor’s own legs prevent her from closing hers now as he holds her. Her hands fist and try to push against something. In this position, she grabs somewhere on his back and buries her taut expression against his collar. He holds her as straight as he can as her body tries to bend and strangled noises escaped her. 

 

The second part of her ritual is a bit quicker and starts with a gasp at the peak of the contraction. Although she knows differently, her body seems to think that it can just move away from the intensity of the pain, causing her to rear up. Her voice will get louder and she’ll lift her bum off her heels in a swift movement, leading her upper body to cling to her husband in the attempt to stay seated. Every so often she can’t hold on fast enough and her head is thrown back in an open-mouthed shout. 

 

She always comes out of each convolution sweating profusely and panting so hard that each inhale heeds its own rasping sounds. Before, he wiped her sweat away with his sleeve, but now there isn’t enough time between the spasms to do much but kiss her forehead mentally urge her on.

 

When the baby’s head is a round, sore dome straining her folds apart, she can hardly maintain kneeling anymore. Her weight against him is enough to give him the message. He holds her close as he lowers her down until the floor meets her back. He’s kneeling above her now, hands braced on either side of her chest. He can see her brief pleasure at the coolness of tiles against her burning skin. 

 

Breathing heavily, she looks up at him. Even in a sweaty, heated mess she is absolutely beautiful. While he wishes constantly to be able to relieve her of her suffering, he also thinks that he’s never seen her in such a state as this: fighting against her own body as she brings a unique life into this universe. Such a fuss seems appropriate for the fruit her labor will produce.

 

Her mind tries to reach out with affection, shrinking back just as quickly as pain blinds her again.

 

Her pattern of crumple and rise still affect her laying down, but the specific movements of her body shift to fit her new position. Her vise grip has turned into a force, hands  pushing hard against the Doctor’s shoulders as her chin tucks into her chest. Her bent knees clamp his hips, but again his position above her stops her legs from closing as she grunts forcefully. 

 

Come the peak of her tortuous contractions, her body jerks itself into an arch, hands adhering tightly to the Doctor’s upper arms for leverage. Her head drives back against the floor, extending her neck. He can see the tendons there stretch and strain as she holds her breath until her cry forces its way from her throat. 

 

Her body seems to be taking longer to release its grip on her, and when each pain ends her whimpers pull at his hearts. He pushes her matted curls from her forehead and replaces them with a few assuring kisses and whispers. 

 

It's easy to observe her exhaustion. The feeling sets in her aching muscles like a bright red stop sign and drips from her heavy breath in pleas for rest.  She doesn't stop, of course. There's a job that must be done before she is allowed any accolade for doing it in the first place. She doesn't stop, but the Doctor hears her mind working overtime to maintain conduction of each muscle straining in her body, each fiber working to stretch and contract and expel. She frets her being isn't capable of doing this much longer without physical consequences. 

 

Her thoughts spike when the baby's head is forced fully out of her, her body trembling. If he isn't mistaken, doubt is more prominent on her features. This isn't a moment he wants to contain fear. This isn't a moment that he wants River to doubt her abilities to bear life and protect it. He has absolute faith in this woman that she will be the kind of mother she wished she'd had, (not that Amy wasn't a good mother, but she didn't exactly have a chance change any diapers). He knows that 24 years is only the beginning of this blessing. He knows that River can hear him think this. 

 

He pushes back her worries of tearing. He dampens her irrational concern that her hips might split completely open because  _ you know what dying feels like and this isn’t it.  _

 

There is the lash back of  _ if you were the one doing this you would agree,  _ which is about the only full thought she can make before there’s more pain and  _ it’s too much, I can’t!  _ She is sure she’s going to shatter. 

 

As she squeezes his arms she squeezes his mind, too. He dares not mention the headache it gives him, trying to focus on calming her, but navigation within her thoughts in near impossible now. 

 

Ancient, musical words start off his tongue, reaching her ears in a soft hum. "You will not break." 

 

River Song stares at her husband in soft wonder. She nods and releases his mind. She closes her eyes. She screams. 

 

Pain is not unfamiliar to her, this is a feeling unlike anything she’s ever experienced. Her world goes white and she forgets to breathe because  _ dear god this child is the size of a bloody planet _ , but she doesn’t break and as quickly as it all surged up, it’s over. 

 

Her hold on the Doctor releases and she melts into the floor, enjoying the sensation of not being torn in half. She still trembles and is still panting, but clearly satisfied to be done on some level underneath the shock of it all. The Doctor looks at her with all the awe and adoration a husband could possibly have for his wife, the amount enough to fuel suns. 

 

River’s breathless gaze draws down when a noise starts from near her feet. It’s a sort of choked whimper which soon gives way to loud, angry wailing. 

 

The Doctor pushes himself up so he’s sitting looking down at the source of the crying. His hearts swell. There, red and wiggling in a heap on the towels between River’s legs is his daughter. She’s dripping with amniotic fluid, blood, and  vernix caseosa and her distressed sounds could shatter glass, but -matched only by her sweaty and exhausted mother- she is the most beautiful thing he’s seen. 

 

He scoops the baby up, towels and all, and moves her to River’s waiting arms. The infant calms quickly with the skin to skin contact and River has the same thoughts as the Doctor.  _ Beautiful.  _

 


End file.
